


Helping Hand

by MusicalLuna



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Broken Bones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Painkillers, Shaving, Touching, hurt!Tony, soothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-18
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-09-17 19:26:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9339734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/pseuds/MusicalLuna
Summary: Tony breaks his arm and Steve helps make him feel better.





	

Tony breaks his arm.

“Fuck,” he says, when Steve wakes up the third day after it happened. “Fuck my life. Goddammit my stupid arm _hurts._ ”

Steve gives himself a moment to drag himself away from the edge of dreaming, his chest squinching a little at the watery gurgle in Tony’s voice that says he’s trying very hard not to cry. He’s sounded a lot like that the last three days, in between the hazy daze of being drugged.“Have you taken your pills?” Steve asks, and his voice is still rough and thick with sleep.

“ _No,”_ Tony all but snarls, but the word wavers dangerously.

“Tony, you’re supposed to—”

“I KNOW! I can't— I couldn’t get the _fucking_ bottle open!” Tony’s voice cracks on the curse and Steve is careful to pretend he didn’t hear it.

He pushes himself upright. Tony is sitting on the bed beside him, crosslegged, with his broken arm in the sling the way it’s supposed to be, thank God, cradled gingerly to his chest. His eyes are red and wet; he’s at the brink of tears, but refusing to let them come. The orange prescription bottle is clutched in his one good hand, the knuckles and tendons sharp and clear through his skin.

Steve rubs at his eyes with the back of his wrist and then says, “May I—”

The bottle hits him in the chest before he gets any further.

“Have at it, He-Man.”

There’s no way to tend to Tony’s wounded pride, so Steve gets the bottle open, quickly and efficiently, carefully sliding out one pill into his palm.

Tony holds out a shaking hand for it and pops it straight into his mouth, dry.

“You’re going to choke,” Steve admonishes and rolls out of the bed to jog to the bathroom for a glass of water.

When he comes back, Tony has his eyes closed, features twisted into an expression of desperation. Steve can see the sheen from his eyes is starting to creep out the corners, glittering behind his long black eyelashes.

Steve presses the water into his hand and kisses his cheek, wishing there was more he could do. It’s prickly with three days worth of growth. Tony hasn’t shaved since the battle. It requires a little more coordination than he’s capable of at the moment.

Tony sips at the water and Steve has an epiphany. Maybe there is something else he can do.

“Come on,” he says, curling one hand around Tony’s hip. His eyes open to baleful slits.

“What.”

“Let me take care of you,” Steve wheedles, thumb stroking over the edge of a bruise hidden by the gray-speckled hairs on Tony’s cheek.

Tony’s face says it’s the last fucking thing he wants to do, but he crawls off the bed and lets Steve shepherd him into the bathroom.

“I’m not supposed to shower,” he complains, glaring around like it’s the bathroom’s fault his arm is broken in the first place.

“I know,” Steve says and hoists him up onto the counter.

“What are we _doing?_ ” Tony demands while Steve ducks down to get his supplies from under the sink. When he comes back up, Tony’s scowling at his own unevenly-bearded face.

“I bet you’ll feel better if this is taken care of,” Steve says, running the back of his fingers over the same spot Tony’s glowering at.

Tony’s responding look is dubious at best. “Hey, I’m not interested in going nude either.”

“I promise,” Steve says, looking Tony dead in the eye, “it will look exactly the way it always does.”

He turns on the water in the sink and lets it run until it’s nice and hot.

“How much experience do you have shaving other guys?” Tony asks suspiciously.

Steve’s mouth pulls up into a crooked smile. “None, but I’ve got steady hands and a good eye.”

Tony makes a dissatisfied noise.

In the meantime, Steve soaks a small towel in the hot water, wrings it out quick, so it doesn’t lose too much of the heat, and then plasters it over Tony’s face, tipping his head back to lean on the mirror so he can press the ends up against Tony’s neck.

This time, the noise Tony makes is considering and his eyelids slip a little. Steve keeps his palms pressed lightly to Tony’s throat until the towel starts to feel cool. Then he lets go, and gently wipes Tony’s face before depositing the towel in the sink. Tony hums.

His eyes follow, though he doesn’t move, while Steve fetches his brush and puts a little of his shaving soap into a shallow bowl. He starts working it up into a lather, swirling the brush around and around. “How’s your arm?”

“Still fucking hurts,” Tony mutters, but he’s less tense already.

Steve nods. Then he leans forward and puts the brush to Tony’s cheek, making small circles and coating the bristly hairs a little at a time. He’s careful to map out the shape of Tony’s goatee.

Tony’s breathing slows and shallows and his eyelids dip lower until he’s watching Steve through the thinnest slits.

“All right?” Steve asks, smiling just a little.

Tony just grunts, quiet.

Steve preps the blade, checks—unnecessarily—to make sure that it’s still sharp, and then leans in to start. He cups the back of Tony’s neck and lays the razor lightly against his skin, using smooth, gentle strokes.

In the silent bathroom, he can hear Tony’s heart, just barely, under the sound of the razor scraping across his face. He can hear him breathe when he pauses to rinse the razor.

Slowly, but surely, Steve shaves away the “wrong” parts of Tony’s whiskers. When the skin is finally smooth and hairless, Tony’s eyes are closed, his lips parted. There are spots of shaving cream speckled in his goatee and in the dip under his nose. Steve smiles.

The goatee is still too long, so he pulls out a comb and digs up Tony’s trimmers and sets to work getting it back to rights. When that’s finished, he retrieves the towel from the sink and rewets it—with cool water this time.

Tony shivers when he soothes it over the freshly exposed skin in a few broad strokes, looping it over one finger to get the last few spots of shaving cream.

He rubs Tony’s favorite aftershave into his palms and then smooths them over his face and neck, careful not to miss a spot. He touches the pads of his thumbs to the sharp points of the goatee.

“There,” he murmurs. “That’s better.”

Tony’s eyes open slow and not all the way. His pupils are big as dimes. Steve helps him sit forward away from the mirror and curls one arm around his back, carding the fingers of the other through his hair.

“How’s that arm feeling now?”

“Mmss _uper_ ,” Tony mumbles and buries his face in Steve’s chest.

Steve huffs, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, and kisses the top of Tony’s head. “Glad to hear it.”


End file.
